“She is so careless,” said Frobisher, listlessly.
“Tell me about these Kennyfecks. What is it all about?” said Mrs. White, bustling up, as if she was resolved on a long confidence.
“They hedged against themselves, I hear,” said Frobisher.
“Indeed! poor things; and are they much hurt?”
“Not seriously, I fancy,” drawled he. “Lady Janet knows it all.”
Mrs. White did not neglect the suggestion, but at once repaired to that part of the room where Lady Janet was sitting, surrounded by a select circle, eagerly discussing the very question she had asked to be informed upon.
“I had it from Verthinia,” said Mrs. Malone, with her peculiar, thick enunciation, “Lady Kilgoff's maid. She said that not a day passes without some such scene between the mother and daughters. Mrs. Kennyfeck had, it seems, forbithen Cashel to call there in her abthence.”
“I must most respectfully interrupt you, madam,” said a large old lady, with blond false hair, and a great deal of rouge, “but the affair was quite different. Miss Olivia, that is the second girl, was detected by her aunt, Miss O'Hara, packing up for an elopement.”
“Fudge!” said Lady Janet; “she'd have helped her, if that were the case! I believe the true version of the matter is yet to come out. My woman, Stubbs, saw the apothecary coming downstairs, after bleeding Livy, and called him into her room; not, indeed, to speak of this matter”—here Lady Janet caused her voice to be heard by Sir Andrew, who sat, in moody sulk, right opposite—“it was to ask, if there should not be two pods of capsicum in every pint of dandelion tea.”
“There may be twa horns o' the de'il in it,” ejaculated Sir Andrew, “but I 'll na pit it to my mouth agen. I hae a throat like the fiery furnace that roasted the three chaps in the Bible.”